The woman, Domina Neninios, shuffled awkwardly to the side as Hill and Isahn entered the house. He offered a smile and a thank you, but the domina wouldn’t even meet his gaze.
“Please, this way.” The viceroy held out a hand, ushering them down the wide, tiled corridor. “We’ll show you to your rooms, and we’d love if you’d join us forcena,” Elio Neninios offered. “We haven’t eaten yet.”
“Do you need clothing?” Domina Neninios asked.
“We do, yes. Thanks, Greta. We traveled light,” Hill explained as they passed the doors to thecaldarium.
What?He stumbled slightly, before grabbing a hold of composure and catching up to the group. How did he know that?
twenty-six
George hosts a shitty dinner party.
Georgelovedhostingherfriends for meals... usually. They’d rallied around her in Isahn’s absence, and Wynnie was staying the night again as she’d done the past five in a row. Georgie would have her relocate to the villa soon, but Hildy and Isahn hadn’t been gone long, and Wynn was popping out every other day to check for correspondence.
Dunstan and Burke were around too, as often as possible—as much as she’d allow. Just that morning, George had to kick them out for having an over-the-top pillow fight—with one real pillow and one magical—in her sitting room.
She tried to laugh at the memory of Wynnie shouting at them to stop and Burke getting thwacked in his distraction. But her chest felt leaden, and her heart heavy.
“Have you gotten any letters?” Burke tossed out the question as he served himself a fresh piece of fish.
Wynnie pierced him with a look of condemnation as George let out a heavy breath.
“Is that a no?” Burke asked.
“Deiwa nekami.” George tossed her hands up in frustration.
“Yes, that’s a fucking ‘no,’” Wynnie replied, piercing Burke with more than a glare, based on the way he forcefully scrunched his eyes shut.
“She’s so mean,” he whined.
On the heels of a sigh, George promised, “The moment we hear from Hildy and Isahn, I’ll let you know.”
A knock came on the dining chamber door, and her friends shared a meaningful look as conversation went silent and they tried to decide who might be in the corridor.
“I’ve got it,” Dunstan offered, rising from his seat.
“Evening.” Adda’s low voice greeted them as Dunstan opened the door a crack, and he swung it wide to usher the cook inside.
“What are you doing here?” George asked through a small smile as she hopped up to give him a hug. “I thought you were busy in the kitchens tonight.”
“I need to get back down there, but I had to come by.”
“Great, you can give us an—”
“Come sit. Hildy, shield us.” George interrupted Dunstan as she registered Adda’s wringing fingers and the way he kept shifting his weight between his left and right foot. She could feel herself dropping into the role of Princess: Her shoulders rolled back, her chin lifted, and the constant buzz in her mind—the ever-flowing memories of Isahn—quieted. Something was wrong.
All eyes were on her rather than Dunstan, and the pity in them, immeasurable.
“Hil’s not here,” Wynnie whispered.
“Oh.” Her heart pinched as she realized she’d misspoken. “Of course. Adda, speak quietly. What’s happened?”
Elbows propped on the table, he leaned in and whispered, “Gasparo is concerned about Gianis and Marinos.”
George’s blood went cold.
“What did you tell him?”
